


Something About the New Fella

by s-o-l-d-a-t (starsandsnipesforever)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1930s/40s rumlow, A/B/O, Alpha!Rumlow, Anal Sex, Desperation, Implied Period Typical Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega!Bucky, Omegaverse, PWP, Pre-TFA, Rimming, but it's honestly just an extended pwp, good guy Rumlow, good to bucky anyway, major age difference, starts out like it might have a plot, thigh worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8987740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsnipesforever/pseuds/s-o-l-d-a-t
Summary: A warm camphorous musk greets Bucky’s nostrils like a dream when he enters the complex. He’s a flight and half up when he discovers the source. Tall, dark, and most definitely Alpha, heaving up some oversized awkward shaped cherry armoire all by himself, despite being dressed like he should be sitting in an office. The fella is clearly strong enough to heave it up the rest of the way by himself, even if it takes a notable effort, but Bucky’s not gonna stand there and watch him do that when he has two capable hands. He rushes up a few steps to grab the other side, trying to peek around the shape of it. “Shouldn’t you have a team of movers helping you with this?”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apexbeaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apexbeaer/gifts).



> Christmas giftfic for quesodillah on tumblr, who requested Pre-CATFA winterbones. Merry Christmas! ^^

A warm camphorous musk greets Bucky’s nostrils like a dream when he enters the complex. He’s a flight and half up when he discovers the source. Tall, dark, and most definitely Alpha, heaving up some oversized awkward shaped cherry armoire all by himself, despite being dressed like he should be sitting in an office. The fella is clearly strong enough to heave it up the rest of the way by himself, even if it takes a notable effort, but Bucky’s not gonna stand there and watch him do that when he has two capable hands. He rushes up a few steps to grab the other side, trying to peek around the shape of it. “Shouldn’t you have a team of movers helping you with this?”  
  
“Oh, I do,” the Alpha breathes, clearly relieved to have some of the burden eased. “But I’m not gonna sit around all day while they do all the work.”  
  
Bucky chuckles, tucking his elbows in to get a steadier grip. “Where are we headed anyway?”  
  
“Three oh nine.”  
  
“Ah. Been wondering when someone was gonna pick that up.” Bucky grunts as they ascend the final step, breathing a relieved sigh when they step onto level flooring. It’s the unit at the end of the hall.  
  
“Right here’s fine,” the man manages out once they’re inside, and Bucky helps lower it to the ground. With a huff, the Alpha leans an arm on top of the armoire while he catches a breath. Now that he’s got a better look at him, Bucky sees that he’s gotta have at least a decade on him. His eyes follow the older man’s fingers as they rake through the poof of hair on top of his head, which remains standing despite the sweat coating the roots. Pushing off the armoire, he extends his other hand to Bucky. “Brock Rumlow.”  
  
Bucky claps a hand into the offered one. “Bucky. Me and my pal Steve live in three zero two.”  
  
Brock seems to take a moment too long to respond, to let go of Bucky’s hand. His nostril flare slowly, and Bucky feels an uncomfortable twist in his abdomen.  
  
“I’ll be seeing you around then,” Brock finally says, letting go of Bucky’s hand, and Bucky has to wonder a moment if he just imagined the pause.  
  
For his part, he grins as though nothing awkward had taken place. “Sure thing. Welcome to the neighborhood.” With a touch of his finger to the corner of his head, Bucky nods and turns away.  
  
“Thanks for the hand,” Brock calls after him.  
  
“Don’t mention it.”  
  
Once inside his own apartment, Bucky leans against the door, taking the collar of his jacket and holding it up to his face as he inhales. His brow furrows. Picking up scents on himself is tricky, and although he thinks he picks up the artificial musk, maybe he’s just imagining it.  
  
Then again, maybe he had imagined Brock’s nostrils flaring.  
  
A small blond head peaks over the top of an unfolded newspaper. “If it’s your scent you’re worried about, I could smell your artificial pheromones before you opened the door. If anything, you put on too much.”  
  
A relieved breath slips from Bucky’s lips as he steps forward, slipping his jacket from his shoulders and hanging it up from the rack before he heads into the main room, sitting on the couch across from Steve. “Is it too much? Do you think people can tell it’s fake?”  
  
Steve folds down the newspaper, giving his friend his full attention. The little Alpha quirks a brow. “Why are you suddenly so worried about it? It’s like I’ve said, people see what they want. They see a charming, hardworking man, and they assume Alpha. No one’s gonna question it.”  
  
Bucky nods. Maybe he was just looking too into it. Such a seemingly innocuous gesture, he’s not sure why it affected him so.  
  
“Anyway,” Steve continues, and he’s got a set expression that brooks no argument. “You shouldn’t have to wear that scent. There’s nothing wrong with being a male Omega. You are who you are. It’s--”  
  
“--society’s that’s wrong, I know,” Bucky chuckles. He’s heard this rant from Steve Rogers before. This is barely just skimming the surface of the tirade he’ll go into if Bucky doesn’t stop him now.  
  
“I mean it, Buck,” Steve continues, his newspaper forgotten on his lap by now. “You’re a good person. You shouldn’t have to hide.”  
  
“I know, Steve.” Bucky grins despite the mild exasperation, pushing himself to his feet and clasping his friend on the shoulder before heading over to the kitchen. “Maybe once the economy’s better, I’ll make such a statement, but there’s no room for it right now.”  
  
“Shouldn’t have to wait,” Steve grumbles under his breath, picking up his newspaper again and fluffing it up a little too hard.  
  
“Got a new neighbor in three oh nine,” Bucky tells Steve idly while he picks out ingredients to start dinner.  
  
“Yeah?” Steve glances over the paper. “You talk to them at all?”  
  
“Briefly.” Bucky idly shrugs as the pan clinks against the stove top. “Seems decent enough.”  
  
  
  
  
  
On his way out the door to head to the docks, Bucky stops when he notices Steve is all dressed like he’s ready for work, despite continuously hacking with enough force that Bucky fears he might expel all his internal organs if he didn’t know better. Bucky blocks the doorway.  
  
“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve insists, suddenly clenching his chest, jaw going rigid, as though trying to contain a fit of coughs that would contradict his declaration. If it were possible to will away illness by sheer force of stubborn will, the little blond would be the reigning champion of that ability. As it so happens, it is not possible.  
  
Bucky’s expression slumps, and he just stares. It speaks enough for them.  
  
Steve takes a seat on their brown sofa, trying to clear his throat and swallow in the most subtle manner possible. It has the opposite effect. “Anyway, as I was saying--” He barely gets the words out before a fit of coughing overwhelms him, and his tiny form is all but crumbling before Bucky’s eyes.  
  
Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dammit, Steve…” With a sigh, his arm flops to the side, and he heads to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Returning to Steve’s side, he hands it to him, which earns him a murmured thanks as the blond takes it and manages to get a hold of himself.  
  
It’s then than the connection suddenly lines up, and Bucky’s eyes widen with realization. “This is a money thing, isn’t it? Steve, how many times have I told you that I can--”  
  
Steve’s gaze snaps right up. “Oh no, Buck. I told you the day I moved in, I can pull my own weight.”  
  
Bucky takes a seat next to him, and despite it all, he can’t help but grin. “And I told you, you don’t owe me anything. I offered you to live here, not pay me.”  
  
“Buck…” Exhaustion weighs the fight out of Steve, a true sign that he is ill.  
  
“You worry about your doctor bills, and I’ll worry about rent. It’s no problem.” Bucky shrugs casually, sitting back on the sofa and extending his arms across the back. He knows he’s gotta offer this in a way that has Steve thinking he’s not taking advantage--not that he is. “Next month, you can cover rent.”  
  
Steve lets out a sigh, pounding a small fist to his rib cage in an attempt to loosen the phlegm. “Thanks, Buck.”  
  
“Rest up,” Bucky insists with an emphasized point of his finger. “I’ll use the office phone to call your work and tell them what’s going on. If I run into Mrs. Davis, I’ll see if she can make you some soup.”  
  
He turns to leave, nearly marching right into Brock as he steps into the hall. The man’s always dressed too sharply to be living in these apartments, he thinks. “Excuse me,” Bucky says with a chuckle, taking a step back.  
  
“After you,” Brock insists with a gesture of his hand. He’s got a jawline that flatters his smile, and by this point, Bucky’s sure that he lives alone. No wife and pups.  
  
With a nod of thanks, Bucky heads toward the stairs. It’s not even the click of heels on wood that inform him of his continued presence behind him, but that warm camphorous musk tinging his nostrils. Alphas are a dime a dozen in Brooklyn, but Bucky’s pretty sure he’s never noticed any particular one’s scent like this.  
  
“Hope the cloudy weather clears up,” Brock comments offhandedly.  
  
From his mannerisms, Bucky should maybe conclude that the man’s friendly like say, Steve Rogers, but it just has him wondering. Basic courtesies and idle chatter lay on the surface, but what’s underneath?  
  
Suddenly Bucky wishes he had a more interesting topic than weather to speak of, and maybe he does, but rather than voice any of them, he simply says, “Yeah. Sure could go for some sunshine.”  
  
  
  
  
  
_It’s no problem,_ he told Steve. It's a problem.  
  
“Aw, you gotta be kidding me?”  
  
“Sorry, Buck, it’s out of my hands,” the pharmacist explains, adjusting his spectacles on his broad nose.. “Supply and demand, you know how it goes. And in times like these? Suppressants are harder to come by.”  
  
Bucky’s hands slowly pull his hair back as his head dropped forward, and he let out a low, frustrated grunt. With a sigh, he looks back at the mechanical register, numbers flipped to his total. “At the rate they’re going, I might as well stay home. It’s like I’m working the days the suppressants give me just to pay them off.”  
  
The pharmacist nods empathetically. “That is always an option. Surely you could make arrangements with your employer to take those days off.”  
  
“No…” Bucky reaches into his coat pocket for his wallet, leaving out the detail that his employer doesn’t exactly realize that Bucky is someone who needs suppressants. “It’s not just work I need ‘em for.” He thumbs through the bills, idly whispering numbers to himself as he does the math. His face twists into a grimace. “You think you can hold onto them until I get my next paycheck?”  
  
“Sure thing, Buck.” The pharmacist looks at him apologetically before taking the prescription back. “Take care of yourself, alright?”  
  
Back at the complex, he sees a certain Alpha neighbor heading up the stairs. He’s helping the elderly Mrs. Davis carry up her grocery bags. The two of them merely exchange polite nods in greeting.  
  
Inside their place, Steve’s still sniffling and coughing every once in awhile, but it’s a vast improvement of what it was. The little Alpha has his ear glued to the crackle and murmur of the radio's urgent news cast, though how he can decipher what's being said is above his paygrade.  
  
Bucky heads to the bathroom, but he leaves the door open so they can talk. “Saw Rumlow helping Mrs. Davis with her groceries.”  
  
“Yeah?” he hears Steve’s voice.  
  
“He’s always in a suit, and he’s always being polite.” Pulling the medicine cabinet open, Bucky takes out his current prescription bottle. “Makes you wonder what he’s hiding when no one’s looking.”  
  
“You ever think maybe he’s just nice?”  
  
“Maybe.” Opening the bottle, Bucky frowns when he sees only a few sitting at the bottom. “Or maybe he’s got an interesting underground life. The fella looks like he should be neck deep in cabbage, and he's living here.”  
  
Steve laughs. "A fella helps an old lady with her groceries, and you got a whole profile for him."  
  
Bucky laughs too, but on the inside, he’s cursing, his stomach twisting up into knots. One by one, he snaps each pill in half. He’ll just have to stretch them.  
  
  
  
  
  
At the docks, Bucky works up the courage to ask for a raise, and the answer he’s met with doesn’t surprise him in the least. “Sorry, Buck. You’re a great worker, and I’d love to, but it’s just not in the cards. Not in this economy. Maybe once the war’s over, and things start looking up.”  
  
He thinks of Steve, how casually he told him that he had rent this month, and the panic attack the blond would certainly fall into if he knew his best pal was running into debt to help him out. Money wasn’t always so tight, but the war changed everything.  
  
After his shift, he decides just to walk to the hall he’s meeting Steve at. To cheer him up after being sick, Bucky told him he’d take him out, have a good time, go meet some dames. He’s glad he skipped the cab when he reaches the place because as he walks past the alley between it and the next building, the sound of scuffling that’s growing all too familiar meets his ears.  
  
“Aw, jeez.”  
  
Sure enough, he finds Steve Rogers in a headlock with some oversized Alpha wrapped around him. What the hell kind of Alpha gets off going after someone a fraction of their size is anyone’s guess.  
  
“Oi, bub!” Bucky calls out, marching right up to them, and when the larger Alpha sees him, he automatically drops Steve to the ground like a rag doll and turns to face him, all broad shoulders and clenched fists. “You wanna fight? I’ll give you a fight.”  
  
All it takes is a punch to the face and another to the gut to send him running. Bucky turns and pulls Steve from the ground, slinging one of his slender arms around the back of his neck. “Hey, wise guy, kinda hard to charm the birds with your face all bloody.”  
  
“He grabbed her,” Steve snarls, using his free hand to wipe the blood from his mouth. “He grabbed her, and she told him to cut it out, and then he actually had the nerve to get mad at her for it.”  
  
“Aw, Steve.” Bucky rubs the top of his pal’s shoulder with his free hand. “The world doesn’t deserve ya.”  
  
Back at the complex, Steve repeatedly insists, “You should’a let me at ‘im!”  
  
“I did let you at him,” Bucky replies as he helps him up the stairs. “And now your eye’s gonna be swollen shut for a week for it. Now will you keep it down? You’re gonna wake up Mrs. Davis.”  
  
“Evening, boys.”  
  
Usually he smells that warm camphor coming from a mile away, and it’s a testament to how well Steve has distracted him. Nevertheless, when he looks up, Brock’s pressed up against the side of the staircase to let them pass. His brow raises curiously as his eyes fall to Steve’s face before looking back over at Bucky. “Your buddy gonna be alright?”  
  
Bucky just laughs. “Yeah, I got him. Got a sense of righteousness bigger than his fist, this one.” Steve grumbles next to him.  
  
Brock simply grins and nods. “Good luck.” Just good luck. Bucky's not sure any other neighbor would have brushed off a sight so casually, especially not with the noise Steve was making.  
  
He passes by the two of them. For a half a second, Bucky glances over at him, and for a half a second, Bucky swears he sees a burn scar peeking out from the hem of his collar.  
  
  
  
  
  
The next time Bucky sees Brock, the man’s suit is covered in a long trench coat, and the usual poof of his hair is hidden under a hat. The luggage he carries is much larger than a typical suitcase.  
  
“Going on vacation?” Bucky asks casually.  
  
“Work related,” Brock answers with a grin, but then he pauses, glancing back down the hall. “Gonna be gone a couple weeks. You wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on my place while I’m gone, yeah?” he adds with a wink.  
  
Bucky nods. “No problem. Have a good trip.”  
  
Letting himself inside, he finds Steve once again buried in the newspaper.  
  
“Rumlow’s headed out of town for a couple weeks,” he tells him while he’s hanging up his jacket. “Told him I’d keep an eye on the place.”  
  
Steve hums agreeably but keeps the newspaper up.  
  
Flopping down on the living room couch, Bucky sits back, staring up at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “He just lives all by himself, you know? An Alpha like that, you’d think he’d have a wife and pups. Maybe he did? Do you think he’s divorced?”  
  
There’s a crinkle of a page turning, but from Steve’s tone, Bucky can tell he’s still buried in the newspaper. “That’s none of our business.”  
  
Bucky just keeps grinning at nothing, slipping his hands behind his head. “Good ol’ Steve Rogers,” he chuckles. “No, I suppose it’s not. I just wonder, you know? I see him all the time, but I can never get more than a few words in. Why’s he by himself? What does he do?”  
  
Steve finally folds his newspaper down, and a faint grin draws on the corner of his lips. “A little dizzy there, Buck?”  
  
Bucky jumps, his easy expression faltering as he looks over at Steve blinking. “What?”  
  
“You’re so fixated on that neighbor.”  
  
“I am not.” Bucky sits up straight.  
  
“You talk about him all the time.”  
  
Bucky vehemently shakes his head. “No, I don’t. Not anymore than any other.”  
  
Steve says nothing, just grins. After a moment, he just hums an ‘mhm’ and flips his newspaper back up.  
  
A few weeks pass, and Bucky doesn't ever bring up Rumlow to Steve again.  
  
  
  
  
  
Bucky finds himself waking up one morning in a layer of his own sweat, skin burning, and an ache of desire pulsing from the depth of his abdomen all the way to his inner thighs. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt since he was a younger teen that could be quarantined in his parents home. The suppressants he takes are hardly perfected, and spreading halves of pills over a tight stretch in addition has sent his hormones into a disarray. His heat’s been kicked into action prematurely, confused and thrown off by the chemical alterations, and perhaps, just too long suppressed.  
  
Rolling out of bed with an ungraceful drop to the ground, he then scrambles his way to the bathroom. He’s grateful that Steve has seemingly already left for work. Steve’s an Alpha, but he has an assortment of his own physical ailments that he doesn’t need his heat sending him into a rut to exacerbate all that. Not to mention how very awkward that would be.  
  
Using the sink to pull himself up, Bucky pulls open the mirror, grabbing the bottle in such a flurry that he knocks over other bottles in the cabinet. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, feet shifting to not step on them. He’ll clean them up once he takes his suppressants, he decides, holding the bottle to his face, features slumping as he sees only a single half a pill.  
  
Suddenly he remembers seeing only one a few weeks ago, at the time thinking he would get some more when he got paid next. His paycheck came, and it was easy to forget.  
  
Stupid, stupid, stupid.  
  
Taking a breath, he tries to calm himself. A half is enough to stop it for a bit. He can take it, and once his heat subsides to a reasonable point, he can rush to the pharmacy to get another. Twisting the bottle open, he stuffs his shaky fingers into it to fish out the pill half, which comes flying out and lands right in the sink. Bucky curses again, dropping the bottle, nails scraping the basin as he tries to catch it, but his eyes widen, color draining from his face as the little pill sinks right into the drain.  
  
“No, no, _no, no, no!_ ” His fingers are in the drain, which has a sickly gooey feel on the inside as though he could hope to find it in there, and he’s like that for a good several minutes before another wave of heat rolls through his body with enough force to weaken his knees, and he has to resign to the fact that it’s gone.  
  
Bucky’s face first on the floor whining, and oh, it burns so bad, and he can already feel the slick dripping through his cleft. His fingers and hole twitch, wanting so desperately to meet, but his heart is hammering, and giving into that urge, he feels like, will only amplify the discomfort that burning heavily enough within him as it is.  
  
Then he’s aware of his scent. He can smell it on himself, and he can practically see it permeating the confined quarter. Shakily, Bucky pushes himself onto his hands and knees, and his artificial pheromones cross his mind a moment, but with how potent his rising heat is tinging his own nostrils, he’s certain that even if he dumped the whole bottle on himself, his own pulsing pheromones would just overwhelm it.  
  
His eyes screw shut tight enough for lines to crease around them, and he had no idea what to fucking do. At this rate, the whole apartment is gonna be stinking of his scent, and then what would he do? Leave a note on the door for Steve, saying oh sorry, I didn’t stay on top of my own responsibilities, so now you need to go sleep somewhere else a few days, even though I was the one that insisted you live here with me in the first place.  
  
Yeah, right.  
  
Though as soon as the thought crosses his mind, it occurs to him that the longer he stays in here, the longer his scent is going to hang around, stick to everything even if he does leave. The longer he stays, the longer it will. With that though, Bucky’s back on his feet, grabbing the robe from the back of the bathroom door and throwing it over his shoulders. It takes all his cognitive energy just to keep on his feet, which are determined to knock him over as he sways like a drunk.  
  
He kicks through the front door and scurries down the hall, and where he’s going exactly, he’s not even sure. Somewhere where there’s no people. Somewhere where the ventilation is abundant. That’s how he finds himself on the roof, flat top, high up, all by himself. He gives into his knees’ fatigue and falls down to them, hands planted against the concrete surface as he closes his eyes and tries to get a hold of his breath. His heart rate is still a few beats above average, but given his current status, that’s to be expected. The morning air is chilly with a bit of a breeze, but with the way Bucky’s body is so adamant about burning him alive from the inside out, it couldn’t be a kinder greeting.  
  
For about a minute, he congratulates himself on his brilliance, until dampness on his ass goes from a trickle to an outright gush, soaking right to his briefs. “Oh, God…” He’s stranded, on top of his own fucking apartment no less, for a few days at least, to battle God knew what elements in only a robe and his underwear. The worst part is knowing that he had done this to himself.  
  
His thighs quiver and his toes curl as the internal burn pulses once more, and once again, his fingers twitch as he considers giving himself some semblance of relief. He just can’t bring himself to do it though. Sure, he’s high up enough where no one can see him, but he’s still outside, and it’s not like the roof access has a lock on it.  
  
His whole body tenses, aching with a want so concentrated, it has tears prickling in the corner of his eyes.  
  
The scrape of a metal door shutting behind him has his breath hitching and heart stopping. If he were to be struck dead right then and there, Bucky would be okay with that.  
  
A warm, camphorous musk greets his nostrils, and a purr builds up in the back of his throat, but before he can release it, his better sense snaps back to him, and Bucky spins around just as quickly, sitting on his soaked briefs and pulling his robe around him as tightly as possible.  
  
“You alright there, kid?” his Alpha neighbor asks.  
  
“Go away!” Bucky hisses.  
  
Brock immediately lifts his hands and takes a step back, his brow lifted to his hairline. “Hey, kid, I don’t mean you any harm, but at the rate I heard you plowing down the hall, it sounded like you could use a bit of help.”  
  
Bucky’s sure the color has drained from his face, but as he imagines the ruckus he surely made, he can feel it return to his cheeks. “I’m fine,” he insists. “I said go away.”  
  
Brock just looks over the expanse of the rooftop as though the gesture speaks enough for him (it does). His eyes land on Bucky again. “You really don’t look like it.” He finally lowers his arms and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Listen, you can either fend for yourself up here, or you could let me help you out, give you a comfortable spot to lie low, even get a hold of some suppressants for you. The choice is yours.”  
  
Bucky’s having a hard enough time keeping his head straight as it is, but to add on top of that the fact that this Alpha isn’t recoiling in disgust from him and offering to get him suppressants is outright baffling. For as long as they have been living next to each other, Bucky doesn’t actually really know the guy, so he’s a little reluctant to hand over his trust when he’s literally laying in front of him in such a vulnerable state. On the other hand, Brock has a point. Bucky technically could hide up here, but he’s got work tomorrow, and he knows that if Steve returns home to find the mess in the bathroom and Bucky gone, he’s gonna be a small whirlwind of hell.  
  
Reluctantly, Bucky swallows his pride, and he lifts a shaky hand in lieu of saying anything. Brock seems to understand, pulling up the scarf hanging from his neck to wrap around his mouth and nose. Once he ties it off, he walks over, takes the offered hand and lifts Bucky to his feet. The Omega all but falls against him as a strong arm wraps around the back of his shoulders. That warm, camphorous scent is even more comforting up close, and Bucky just wants to bury his face against his neck and breathe it all in. He refrains from the urge, however. As much as he wants to let his instincts be lulled into that sense of security, his face is still burning, and every step is as embarrassing as the last.  
  
Bucky lets himself be led into the apartment. The place has a bit more decor than his and Steve’s and is more organized too, though he can only take looking about for a moment and Brock takes him to the bedroom, leading him over to his bed. He lets the Omega go, who promptly takes a blanket and pulls it over him, despite his skin wishing for the opposite, but it acts a barrier for his vulnerability.  
  
Brock remains standing, and he still has that scarf around his mouth and nose. “That little guy,” he says. “Is he your…?”  
  
“Mate?” Bucky finishes for him, and despite everything, he can’t help but laugh. “No. He’s just my friend, who happens to have a bunch of health problems and doesn’t need an Omega in heat pushed on him.” Brock nods in understanding, and Bucky cocks a brow, a little surprised at how nonplussed he seems at the idea of two males being mates, even if his assumption had been wrong.  
  
Brock’s scent is all over the pillow and blanket, and Bucky can’t help but breathe it in, which results in another gush of slick seeping through his briefs and onto his robe now. Grimacing, he buries his face into a blanket as a whine slips from his lips. “I’m gonna make a mess of your bed…”  
  
“Nothing that can’t be washed,” Brock replies casually as he pulls open the windows in the room, assumably to get some ventilation. “You don’t have suppressants at your place, I take it?”  
  
Bucky shakes his head, then he remembers the offer from earlier. “They’re prescription only. You can’t just walk into the store and get some.”  
  
“I may be an Alpha, but I’ve been around the block,” Brock chuckles. “Don’t worry, I know a guy.”  
  
Bucky peeks over the edge of the blanket with a raised brow. He had always joked that maybe Brock was secretly a gangster, but that comment makes him wonder if it actually is a joke. It’s not necessarily a comforting thought. Still, he needs suppressants and isn’t exactly in a position to be righteous about it. If he decides to tell Steve about today later, he might leave out this detail.  
  
Brock’s already left the room, and Bucky can hear him talking on the phone, which is impressive that he has one of his own. Him and Steve always use the one in the apartment’s main office. Of all neighbors to find him, he's not sure if he should be grateful that it was Rumlow or mortified. He supposes it's better him than Mrs. Davis. His mind doesn’t linger on that long though. While initially the scent of an Alpha closeby satisfied that burn in his abdomen at least a little, his body apparently caught up with the fact that neither of them were actually acting on it and decided to crank up the heat to give him a little more incentive.  
  
Bucky’s whine is muffled into the pillow. His trembling thighs clamp tightly together, and his fingers claw into the sheets as he fights the urge to shove them in his ass. He barely registers Brock’s voice, and when he turns his head, he sees him at the doorway. By this point, he’s taken off the scarf, but he is standing pointedly outside of the room with his arm against the edge almost as if he’s physically holding himself outside of it.  
  
“Alright,” Brock says. “I got a hold of him, but I’m not gonna be able to meet up with him until later. You can stay here. I’ll go leave a note on your door for your friend and, ah… go run some errands.”  
  
The second Bucky hears the door click and knows that Brock is gone, he sheds off all his clothes, tosses off the blanket, and two fingers press right inside of him. “Fuck,” he rasps, spreading his legs wide and massaging the slick-coated fleshy walls with the pads of his fingers. A series of groans issue from his lips as his heels dig into the mattress, taking the weight as his back arcs off the bed. His head turns and his other hand lifts to take the side of the pillow and press it to his nose and mouth, smothering himself with Brock’s scent, and fuck, it’s been too long. Too long since he last let himself have a heat and indulged in the carnal pleasure of it, even if it was just by himself, and he swears with just how sensitive he is, his body is trying to compensate for those months, years of suppression. He doesn’t even have to touch himself externally. All it takes is a good rub against his prostate, Brock’s scent in his nose, and the image of his face in his mind, and a rush of bliss overtakes his body, makes him go rigid.  
  
Warmth spills onto his abdomen, that exhilaration in his veins tingling all the way to his extremities, and Bucky lets out a content sigh as his stiff body suddenly melts into the mattress beneath him.  
  
For a moment, all feels right and okay, then shame rears its ugly head as his two fingers slip out of the heat of his body. This Alpha had found him cornered at his most vulnerable point and took him into his home, giving him a place to lie low and even getting a hold of suppressants for him. There were a thousand and one ways this situation could have gone south, but his mysterious Alpha neighbor had done none of those things. And now here he is, fingering himself in said Alpha’s own bed and thinking about him like some kind of pervert.  
  
Grabbing his robe, Bucky uses it to clean the mess from his fingers and abs before wrapping it around himself. Vaguely, he wonders if Brock is the kind of Alpha that is into male Omegas, but even if by chance he is, he’s doubtful the messy state he’s currently in would be desiring. On the plus side, although his own fingers are not enough to quell his heat in its entirety, they’re enough to allow him to relax, close his eyes, and sleep it off for a bit.  
  
He’s awakened later by the sounds of Brock shuffling around in his livingroom. A pulse of anxiety has him reaching over to snatch the blankets and bury himself again, though his efforts are met with more wetness, more of a concentrated pulse in his gut. Bucky’s eyes screw shut as he clutches the blanket hard and bites on his tongue to hold back the urge to whine.  
  
“You awake?”  
  
Opening his eyes, Bucky sees Brock standing in the doorway again, and all he can manage is to nod.  
  
“Talked to your friend,” he says casually as he enters, and on the one hand, Bucky’s heart speeds up in his chest, and on the other, he finds himself sinking under the blanket more out of embarrassment at how eager his body is for this Alpha and how little control he has over it. “Steve. What a nice guy. Seemed a little taken aback, at first, but he came around.” Pulling out a bottle from his pocket, he set it down on the nightstand right next to Bucky before turning away. “Told me to tell you not to worry about the mess in the bathroom.”  
  
Bucky’s head turns, eyes widening when he sees the bottle of suppressants right in front of his face. Sitting up quickly, he reaches over to grab them, but the second his hand wraps around the bottle, he looks up to see Brock’s back nearly disappearing around the corner.  
  
“Brock.”  
  
The man pauses, turning his head to look back at him. “Hm?”  
  
“Why’d you do all this?” Bucky asks. “You didn’t have to do any of it. You could’a just left me on the roof and went about your business.”  
  
Brock turns the rest of the way around and taps the wall. “You seemed like a decent guy. Always taking care of your little friend. Everyone needs help every once in awhile.”  
  
Bucky blinks as he considers that. “You knew it was me?”  
  
Brock snorts in amusement, lifting an arm to lean against the doorway. “Those fake pheromones are cute, but… they ain’t the real deal. You smell much better without them, by the way.”  
  
That has Bucky pressing his legs together despite the urge to do the opposite. He clears his throat and lowers his head in an attempt to hide the warmth that sprouted on his cheeks. “No one else has been able to tell.”  
  
Brock casually pushes off the doorway like he’s about to turn away again. “Not many prefer the scent of male Omegas. Or rather are willing to admit it.”  
  
Oh.  
  
Bucky’s eyes widen a bit, and when his body reacts accordingly, he doesn’t immediately try to squash it. He looks to the bottle in his hand before uncurling his hold on it. “You know.” His gaze shifts over to Brock, who’s about mid-turn when he stops again. “I don’t have to take these. Not right away at least.” To emphasize the invitation, he takes the openings of his robe and slides the fabric slowly from his shoulders.  
  
This time, it’s Brock’s turn for his eyes to widen, and for a second, they seemingly darken with lust as he turns to face him fully, but there’s a flicker of doubt in the corner of them. “I don’t know if you know what you’re talking about, kid.”  
  
“Yes, I do,” Bucky breathes, and the words just flow from him, like a floodgate latch that’s been flipped, and there’s no stopping it now. “Every since you moved in here, I knew. I always wondered about you. You’re scent is just so…” The perfect word fails to find him, so he lets it drift off into a soft sigh. Before he can lose himself too much with that thought though, he perks back up. “I should’a talked to ya before, I know. I wanted to. I just.” He shook his head.  
  
Brock lifts a hand as if to stop him. “Gotta be careful about who you tell that kinda thing to. I get it. It’s shit, but that’s how it is.” But the explanation appears to be enough for him to let go of whatever reservations he was holding onto as he crosses the room. One knee sinks onto the edge of the bed beside Bucky, and he tucks his curled index finger under the Omega’s chin. “How old are you?”  
  
“Twenty-two.”  
  
Brock’s smile almost looks like a wince. “Fuck, you’re a babe.”  
  
“Oh, come on.” Bucky’s hands lift to take hold of the collar of his shirt. “I’m an adult.”  
  
“I’m thirty-seven,” Brock replies with a bit of a dry chuckle. When he receives no answer, he follows up with, “Change of heart?”  
  
“Hell no.” His grasp on Brock’s collar tightens, and he tugs in right into a kiss that’s met enthusiastically. His lips part enough to taste Brock, and it’s as delightful as his scent. That burn inside him rouses, though while the fire is raging, it’s finally contained.  
  
Brock’s slips the rest of the way on the bed, his hands taking Bucky’s shoulders as his mouth opens, licking its way into the Omega’s mouth, which Bucky eagerly meets with his own. The kiss is broken with a soft wet noise as Brock’s lips ghost down his skin until it finds that particularly sensitive spot on the side of his neck, and he nuzzles at it. Bucky’s chin instinctively lifts, and he realizes Brock’s musk is starting to overpower his heat. Oh God, he’s scenting him. By which point, Bucky can’t contain the purr that hums from his lips if he wanted to, and he’s already putty in Brock’s hand.  
  
The attention at his scent glands does surface some semblance of reason, and right before his eyes fully drift shut, they suddenly open. “No biting.”  
  
There’s no teeth, but Brock does suckle the skin between his lips before releasing. “Wouldn’t dream of it, dollface.” His head lifts to press a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Any other conditions?”  
  
“You got a condom, right?”  
  
Brock’s head drops a bit as he lets out a chuckle. “I don’t know many thirty-seven year old Alphas that don’t keep condoms at home.”  
  
Bucky spreads his legs a bit. “Then I’m all yours.” The hand on his collar moves to his tie, curling two fingers around it and giving it a slight tug. “Unless you have any conditions you want to add.”  
  
“No conditions.” Brock’s hands move to push the robe further down his shoulders, and he leans in to go back to kissing his neck. “But I would like to know your name. Your real one.”  
  
“James Barnes,” he breathes as his head falls back and his eyes flutter shut. “Bucky’s short for my middle name, Buchanan.”  
  
“Mm, cute.” Little by little, Brock is pushing the flaps of his robe open and kissing his way down his chest. Bucky lifts a hand to run his fingers through his perfectly groomed hair. “You ever do this before, James?”  
  
“Call me Bucky.” His head suddenly lifted with a crease between his brows as he quickly added, “And I’m no virgin.”  
  
“That’s not what I asked.” Brock’s hands move to slip under Bucky’s robe and grab onto his ribcage. The flat of his tongue laps over one of his nipples before sealing his lips around it, which earns him a whine. “That’s okay,” he murmurs against his skin. “You don’t gotta answer.” But Bucky suspects his silence is answer enough.  
  
Finally Brock pushes Bucky’s robe open the rest of the way, and the Omega feels particularly vulnerable as he lays there bare, completely exposed to him, legs open and drenched with slick. Brock’s eyes widen like he just hit the jackpot. “Jesus…”  
  
Suddenly Bucky is aware of just how much slick is coating him. What a mess he must look like. Bucky Barnes, so charming and smooth talking the dames, but put him front of a prime Alpha, and he’s a dishevelled mess. That heat creeps back up his neck. “S-Sorry…”  
  
“For what?” And then Brock’s mouth is planted right on the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh, the flat of his tongue collecting the slick right off of so eagerly, so enthusiastically, he might have been dehydrated.  
  
Bucky’s hands smack back down into the mattress, tangling his fingers into the sheets as they curl into hard fists. “ _Fuck_.” He’s not touching his hole, he’s not touching his cock, and still he’s setting his nerves on fire, simultaneously satisfying the one in the pit of his abdomen as well as exacerbating it. His diligently working tongue feels so good, and he wants to stay there, but he also wants more, and really, he doesn’t know what he wants. He can’t seem to put that confusing jumble into words, so he simply writhes against the mattress, clawing the sheets for purchase and clenching his teeth so some of the louder noises that want to escape his throat stay contained. Even in this state, he knows all too well that how paper thin the walls are.  
  
Brock props the back of his thighs against his shoulders, wrapping his arms all the way around them, and when Bucky manages to peek his eyes open, he swears the Alpha is set on smothering himself like that. Though for a man with a death wish, he sure seems to be enjoying himself. Although eager and quite thorough, Brock’s very deliberate about what he does, licking the skin right next to his swollen cock and just missing actually brushing it. Bastard. All Bucky can do is whimper.  
  
Brock finally comes up for air with a smack of lips. “Fuck, you are something gorgeous, dollface,” he rasps.  
  
Bucky’s not stupid. He knows what he looks. That doesn’t make it any less flattering coming from a Alpha such as Brock, with his strong jaw and broad shoulders and warm golden eyes.  
  
Just when he thinks he’s about to get a reprieve, however, Brock’s hand clutch his hips and flip him onto his stomach. Bucky barely has time for his eyes to widen before Brock’s tongue is gliding right up his cleft, and the Omega’s burying his face into the pillows to let out a stream of curses. At least this way he doesn’t have to restrain his underused vocal chords so much. It’s almost a blessing how to the point Brock is, really. It doesn’t give him a chance to think about just how much more exposed he is to him, all his sensitive nerves going off and overriding any coherency in his mind.  
  
Brock is once again very thorough, lapping up every drop of slick, a rather challenging task given how close he is to the source. His hands roll and knead his asscheeks against his palms, spreading them as his lips seal against the hole and the tip of his taut tongue pushed against the very center of the rim.  
  
Bucky grasps the headboard of the bed and tosses his head back as his back curves in. “Oh, fuck!” he whines, followed by heavy pants. “You’re so mean.”  
  
He can hear the smirk on Brock’s face as he chuckles. “You just gotta relax, dollface.” Two fingers slide inside Bucky, and his face drops back to the pillow, burying it into the plush cotton. It muffles another moan as his hips roll back to hoist his ass in the air.  
  
He’s pleased himself with his own fingers plenty of times, but they seem to pale in comparison to the assault on his walls that Brock’s bring. Working in and out of him, reaching as far as they could go, twisting around, and splaying, and even with the pillows absorbing the moans tumbling from his lips, he can still hear the obscene wet sounds the finger fucking makes, particularly as the action pulls more slick out of him.  
  
“ _Alpha_ ,” he gasps as he tears his face away from the fabric. “You’re knot,” he manages in between pants. “Come on. _Please_.”  
  
Bucky’s head is turned enough to see Brock’s face, and he kind of wants to smack that smug smirk right off of it. “What’s that, dollface? You’re not making any sense.”  
  
Then Brock curls his fingers in a way that send a jolt of electricity right up his body, and Bucky’s biting a mouthful of the pillow hard to keep from crying out. When his head does twist back again, his eyes are narrowed. “ _I said I want your fucking knot in me_.”  
  
“Ooh.” Brock’s laughing, fingers still working. “Where’s that charming gentlemen that lives down the hall?”  
  
“ _Please_.”  
  
“Alright, dollface, I got you.” His fingers slip out, and he rolls Bucky onto his back again. The Omega watches him as he one by one unhooks his suspenders from his pants and tosses them aside.  
  
As dashing as Brock looks all dressed up, his clothes sure do look nice coming off.  
  
But it’s taking too long for Bucky’s liking, and he sits up, yanking his tie the rest of the way off and hastily undoing the buttons of his vest. Brock just chuckles, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling everything off his shoulders. Bucky’s eyes linger on the burn scars. He hadn’t imagined them, and they did nothing to deter the Alpha’s attractiveness. Taking Bucky’s wrists, Brock lies him back down and holds his arms overhead, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Impatient.” His hands slide down and so do his kisses, but before Bucky can whine any more, he’s sitting up and reaching over to pull his drawer open, taking out a tin of condoms.  
  
Removing one, Brock unfastens his pants and slides them down with his drawers. Bucky’s eyes fall to his cock, and his eyes widen, abdomen clenching as he wonders how the hell that is going to fit inside him.  
  
He can’t seem to peel his eyes away to save his life. His heart is pulsing so fervently he can feel it in his chest, hear it in his ears drowning out all other noise, excitement and anxiety nigh impossible to differentiate in that moment. He must wear it on his face because when Brock finishes rolling it down, he looks up at the Omega with an arch in his brow. “You sure about this?”  
  
Rather than answering with words, Bucky flips back onto his stomach and lifts his ass higher into the air, his knees inching further apart.  
  
Brock curls a hand around Bucky’s hip, the other hand taking the base of his covered cock, and he aligns the head against his entrance. Slowly his hips sink forward, and the intensity of the stretch of the Alpha’s girth has him burying his face back into the pillow, biting down on linen and feathers as a groan crackles from his throat.  
  
It’s like nothing he’s ever felt. Not like other kinds of sex or fingers, and although the generous amount of slick his body’s produced allows the intrusion in fairly easily, it is still a stretch beyond previous boundaries. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes, and his whole body goes still.  
  
“You gotta relax, dollface,” Brock husks, and Bucky knows he’s right, even if that’s easier said than done.  
  
Nevertheless, he releases a breath and willfully makes his body loosen. When Brock’s fully sheathed, he comes to a still, allowing Bucky to acclimate and from the sound of the hoarse grunt he hears behind him, allowing himself to as well.  
  
It’s so much, it’s too much, and yet it’s so fucking gratifying.  
  
“Okay,” Bucky finally breathes, when he feels like Brock moving won’t completely break him.  
  
A hand takes his other hip, and both firmly hold him in place as Brock’s own hips start moving. Somehow the discomfort of the pressure seems to ease up more as the Alpha slowly slides in and out of it. It is still an intense feeling, but a good one, the one his body had been craving this whole time, and now that it was finally getting what it wanted, that burn in his stomach has shifted from painful to pleasurable. The hands on his hips are ground, but after a few strokes into his ass, Bucky craves a pace faster than this languid one, so he rolls his ass against Brock’s pelvis to meet his movements, until the Alpha catches on, and his hips go from rolling to thrusting.  
  
Brock leans in, planting his lips against the back of Bucky’s neck, adding more wet sounds to the cacophony he’s already creating. His lips send sparks across his skin, and Bucky wishes there were thicker walls, that he could tell Brock just how amazing this all felt and let the volume of his pleasure fill the room. For half a second, the idea of turning his head, offering his glands to the Alpha crosses his mind, imagining the much older gentlemen sinking his teeth in. The thought is fleeting though. No matter how impassioned he is in the moment, he knows some things simply cannot be.  
  
The Alpha seems to understand the urge, however, perhaps is fighting off something similar, because he’s nuzzling against the side of Bucky’s neck instead. His camphorous musk mingling with then overpowering his own scent draws a mewl, vibrating against Bucky’s lips as he melts under the attention.  
  
The next time Brock draws back, Bucky deliberate pushes his hips forward so the Alpha slides fully out of him. The Omega swiftly rolls onto his back, looking up at Brock with a grin on his face and spreading his legs wide. Taking the cue, Brock props himself over Bucky, taking hold of his cock so that he can push it into him again.  
  
Bucky’s head arches back into a pillow as a gasp escapes his lips, jaw wide open. The sound is caught by Brock’s mouth sealing over his, and the two of them sing a chorus of muffled moans. Bucky swallows every growl and responds in kind with a purr. In the back of his mind, he wonders if Brock would allow him to come over every time his heat hits.  
  
Bending his knees, Bucky hugs them against Brock’s hips. His arms wrap around his broad shoulders, and in one swift movement, Bucky lurches all his weight to one side. Brock blinks up at him when he realizes he’s been put on his back.  
  
Bucky might be an Omega, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take charge. Sitting upright, Bucky bites down on his lower lip, smirking as he rolls his hips. Brock watches him for a moment with a bit of a dumbfounded expression, clearly not used to this, but Bucky must be doing something right with his hips or perhaps the Alpha likes the view, because in a matter of moments, he’s mirroring the smirk with one of his own.  
  
“Fuck, dollface,” he whispers, wriggling a bit underneath him, hands running up the sides of Bucky’s fit body as the Omega works himself on his cock. Every once in awhile he stops when Brock’s length his fully inside him and twirls his hips in a circular motion which earns him some very satisfying sounds from the Alpha.  
  
It feels so good, even the painful aspect of it. It all sort of melds together into something that’s potent and fucking incredible. Bucky bounces on his cock with enough forces to make the bed creak. His head rolls back as his teeth sink further into his lip to contain the full force of the groan that wants out of his throat.  
  
Brock’s hands fall to Bucky’s hips and assist them with moving while his own start to thrust upward. Bucky appreciates the gesture. Although he is in good shape, this is an unusual workout for his thighs and they start to fatigue. Finally, the Alpha holds Bucky up and with an impressive strength, takes all the work onto himself as he fucks into him.  
  
A part of Bucky wishes that he could feel the veins of Brock’s thick cock stroking the inside of him directly, but once again, but the consequences outweigh the need for that particular pleasure.  
  
Then Brock releases his hips, one of his now freed hands wrapping around Bucky’s own length and stroking him with the fervency that he pounds into him.  
  
Bucky falls forward but catches himself by gripping each of Brock’s shoulders. His eyes screw shut and his jaw falls open. “ _Alpha_.”  
  
“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”  
  
It’s a struggle to open his eyes as his orgasm shudders through his body, and the mess of it spills warmly between them. His brain is surely in no place to form the coherency required to have whatever conversation Brock is trying to have.  
  
“I need to know if you’ve taken a knot before.”  
  
Then Bucky understands. His eyes widen, and his heart flutters rapidly in his chest. If he had thought the girth of Brock’s unknotted erection was intense, he can only imagine…  
  
“I want it!” he blurts suddenly.  
  
It’s all Brock needs to hear, and he’s taking Bucky by the hips again, yanking him down against his body as a broken growl cracks in his throat and his own body goes rigid. Bucky feels the stretch abruptly balloon inside him.  
  
For a second, Bucky sees white. The hands on Brock’s shoulders curl, nails biting into the skin as his back arches inward. He has to bite down on his tongue to keep from crying out, and he wonders if he made the right decision.  
  
An excellent reader of body language, Brock runs his hands soothingly all over Bucky’s torso, chest, and shoulders. “Relax, dollface,” he murmurs in between pants, and Bucky finds it all too easy to give into the lull of the Alpha’s voice.  
  
It’s an immensely powerful feeling, but it’s also a fulfilling one. A satisfying one.  
  
Brock carefully sits up, allowing Bucky to lean against him, wrapping an arm around him. Closing his eyes, Bucky rests his head on his shoulder, all gelatinous weight against the Alpha as he catches his breath.  
  
He’s not sure how much time passes, but when Brock’s knot finally subsides and he pulls out of him, Bucky finds that he misses that feeling of fullness, despite the initial extremity of it.  
  
They both slowly move to lay on their backs next to each other, limbs lazily sprawled at their sides.  
  
Although thoroughly spent, Bucky’s in a relatively clear state of mind as well as body. Now would be a good time to take one of the suppressants before his heat kicked back in.  
  
“Thank you,” Bucky rasps. “For everything, I mean. I really owe you one.”  
  
Sitting up, Brock stretches his arms overhead, his back popping. “Well, I don’t know that you really owe me anything.” One hand squeezes his cock while the other peels off the condom, careful not to spill any fluid as he ties it off and drops it into the wastebin. Looking back at Bucky, a smirk tugs on his lips. “I mean, you’re welcome, but it’s not like this exactly turned out inconvenient for me.”  
  
Bucky pushes himself into a sitting position as well, turning so that he’s sitting next to Brock. Reaching over, he grabs the bottle of suppressants, pressing the flat of his palm against it. “I’ll get out of your hair now. I’m sure you got plans for the evening.”  
  
“Well,” Brock says with a bit of a laugh. “I thought I did, but I guess not if you’re leaving so soon.”  
  
“Yeah?” A bit of a smirk flickers onto the corner of Bucky’s lips. “How many condoms to you have left?”  
   
“Five.”  
  
Bucky sets the bottle back on the nightstand. Brock grins.


End file.
